Surface Tension
by Yuuki Miyaka
Summary: A unique version of "he loves me, he loves me not."


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**Surface Tension**  
A CSI fic  
By: Yuuki Miyaka

Sara walked into her apartment to hear the faint sound of piano and sighed. She'd forgotten to turn off her radio before work. Stalking into the bedroom, she slapped it off before an announcer could come on and annoy her further. She did not want to be distracted at the moment.

She took half an hour to properly clean her kitchen table of case-related debris, even going so far as to polish the cheap wood top. When she was happy with the effect, she began to set up. One vinyl placemat, carefully cleaned so that it sat flat on the tabletop. A single paper towel was next, spread flat over the vinyl placemat. After that came the measuring cup, filled to the brim with water, and very meticulously set down so that not a drop spilled. Its sides were dry, a byproduct of Sara's exacting nature when it came to experiments.

Once those three items were set up, she sighed, looking at her work for a moment before going to the bag she always brought with her to work. She dug through it, coming out with a small maroon journal. Her place had been marked with a ribbon affixed squarely to the spine of the book, and she laid it to the side of the vinyl placemat, open. Knowing better than to assume she'd keep her place, however, she carefully put the ribbon back into place, smoothing it down with a slender finger. 

A bowl of water was next, filled only halfway full and not in any danger of spilling as she set it at the corner of paper towel. Then came the eyedropper, which she lay beside the measuring cup. Finally ready, she sat down and stared for a moment at her work.

Picking up the journal, she flipped to the dog-eared page that marked the beginning of the previous week and scanned the notes at the bottom of each page. They were in her own personal short-hand, but it took no thought to translate them. Four drops pulled out of the measuring cup immediately. She frowned, trying to remember that day and what four things he'd sniped or scolded about. Not that it could really be considered scolding . . . he never raised his voice to her, never really seemed angry. Only the inflection gave him away, but she knew him well enough to hear that inflection every time. So four drops were gingerly extracted from the measuring cup and put into the bowl.

Then another seven disappeared and it didn't take any thought to remember what the seven were. Four very warm comments and three grins to Catherine. They were such good friends. Sara felt sick as she remembered how close they'd been that day. She eyed the water-level in the cup miserably, then moved to the next page, ignoring the last two notations on that one. Another three drops gone, then another two. She skipped Tuesday, since that was her day off and she hadn't seen Grissom once, moving on through the week. It was a slow, painstaking process, and left her measuring cup barely more than halfway full. 

When that was done, she turned the pages back until she reached Sunday's entry again, and began with the two notations she'd ignored previously. Now she remembered every defense of her talents and her dedication, and slipped five drops back into the measuring cup. She went slowly, carefully, making certain not to let the smallest amount get on the paper towel beneath the setup.

She read the next notation and smiled softly, her eyes lighting in memory of his warm words and smiles in her direction. Ten drops went into the cup. As before, she moved through the week. The entire process took a painstaking three hours to complete, but she never once grew bored. Her memories were occupied with something he'd said or done. She performed this same experiment every week, and had for some time. 

As she added water into the cup for that day, she was beaming. The water swelled up over the top of the container, held in place solely by surface tension. She bit her lip, watching as she added drop after drop, careful to disturb the water no more than absolutely necessary. With one drop to go, she slowly began adding it, then gasped as the tension broke. Water poured over the side of the cup, soaking the paper towel beneath.

This was the third time in three weeks that this had happened. Experiments should always have repeatable results. She stared at the wet paper towel for a long minute, then rose, moving to the phone.

She dialed his number from memory, having called it a hundred times, though she'd never been able to retain her nerve for more than the first ring. It took four, now, before he answered. When he did, she said only, "We have to talk."


End file.
